Wearing the Hero
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *AmeIta, fluff* Italy has a slight obsession for America's jacket.


**SOY:** I needed some fluff, and I'm sharing this. ^^ please enjoy!

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**Rating**: K+.

**Warnings:** enough fluff to make you get diabetes.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Wearing the Hero**

**One–shot**

The room for the monthly world meeting was mostly empty, with only a few nations still sitting at the table, and a couple wandering around aimlessly.

There was Poland in a corner busy checking a magazine titled 'how to make your pink walls look splendid', tugging at Lithuania's sleeve to ask him whether 'peony pink' looked better than 'pale rose pink'.

Greece was sleeping, his chair tilting backwards almost dangerously, while a snickering Turkey was attempting to push it over the edge, smirk growing larger with every inch gained.

Italy shifted from his seat and glanced around, making sure nobody was looking his way –all was clear. He could move.

America had just left the room, following a complaining England, to get something to drink, as they had a thirty–minutes break before the following part of the meeting, and Prussia had tugged a protesting Germany away somewhere.

Even his older brother wouldn't be able to interfere, as Spain had grabbed his arm and demanded him to follow to the nearest cupboard.

It was the perfect moment to make his move.

Italy lowered himself on the floor and under the table; he curled his nose in disgust when he noticed all the stuff that was dropped and forgotten during the meetings –candy wrappings, balls of paper, cans of coke and even a few bottles of beer– but then ignored it as he sneaked to the left, moving slowly through all the trash.

He counted four empty seats, Belgium's legs and two more empty seats before he finally reached his target.

There, carelessly placed over the back of the chair, there was America's jacket, waiting for him to grab it.

Italy's lips twitched upwards into a smile and he inwardly cheered, one hand stretching forwards, brushing against the soft texture of the jacket.

The truth was, he had a thing for America's jacket. It was smooth to the touch, and when he'd tried it on the first time (America at the time had been in the bathroom), it had felt terribly comfortable, and soft, and warm, yet not too much.

Perfect.

Then the colour –it was a brown Italy liked. The brown of rich soil in a field, the kind of brown that reminded him of pure, fertile earth.

In short, Italy really loved it.

Unfortunately for him, America almost _never_ took it off, and it make really hard to find the perfect moment to get a hold of it –he couldn't just go to him and ask for the jacket, right? It would be 'weird'.

Poland knew, of course, but Poland was his friend, and he just chuckled at him and helped him out –this was the fifth or sixth time he'd managed to get his hands on the jacket.

America would probably laugh, and Italy didn't want to be made fun of… not for a jacket, no matter how smooth and comfortable and…

Italy's fingers curled around the hem of the jacket and tugged hard, shifting until it was in his arms. With the precious bundle clutched against his chest, Italy continued moving to the other end of the table, the closest to the door as he could, and finally slithered out.

"Ve~!"

He was definitely satisfied of himself, though he'd have to clean the stain on his pants with something powerful to get all that chewing gum out of them.

He sneezed and glanced to the side, ready to run to the door…

Poland looked up from his magazine and tapped Italy's head with one finger, making the Italian Nation turn to look at him.

"All, like, done?"

"_Sì_~!"

"Like, fabulous!" with a wink, Poland returned to his magazine, under the confused gaze of Lithuania, and Italy quickly made his way out of the meeting room, heart thumping fast.

As he shut the door close behind his back, he took a deep breath and started giggling, bouncing up and down and clutching the jacket in his hands.

Now, he could only wear it for the remaining break, but it was worth it!

He slipped out of his jacket suit, carefully placing it on a nearby chair, and replaced it with America's own, smiling even more at the way it fit over his frame; it was a few sizes bigger, and it hung low on his body, but he didn't care. He felt like he was wrapped in a protective blanket like that.

Twirling around, he rubbed his cheek against one of the sleeves before rolling it up a bit, so it fit on his arms.

"Ve~ now I wanna some of Alfred's junk food!"

He bounced down the corridor, carefully checking around the corner to see if America was coming back, before reaching the end of the floor and calling the elevator; all the while, he kept rubbing his cheeks all over the jacket, snuggling more into it and chuckling happily.

He felt really giddy, and a bit guilty, but he didn't want to think about it –America wouldn't find out if he was quicker than him, and things would be ok.

He… he wouldn't get angry, he was America after all…

Shivering at the scary thought, Italy tried not to think about it; he only wanted to enjoy the jacket for the moment, and plot the next time he would be able to get it, especially if he could get it for more than twenty minutes.

He exited the building and took the main street down towards a close–by market, already licking his lips at the thought of the many sweets he would buy, and he was so into deciding whether to buy liquorice or not that he didn't even notice when he passed next to the bench America was sitting on, busy sipping on a coke, with wrappings of burgers all around him.

England, who was glaring at America's eating habits with as much disgust as he could muster, turned around and blinked.

"Isn't that Feliciano?" he asked.

America grunted and twisted around, looking in the wrong direction. England scoffed.

"No, _that_ way," he pointed with a thumb. "Isn't that your jacket, too?"

With a muffled yelp, America followed England's thumb and gulped down the remaining of his fifth burger, eyes wide. "My jacket!" he cried out, just as Italy turned the corner and disappeared from view. "Hey!"

"That's quite stra– oi! Alfred! Come back here! Alfred, you frigging dolt!"

America jumped up from his seat and was now running down the street, disappearing behind the same corner Italy had passed seconds before.

England remained sitting on the bench, holding a cold coffee in one hand and surrounded by America's trash.

"That idiot… really, nothing but a kid…"

…–…–…–…

America was baffled.

He hadn't expected to see someone else in his jacket, especially not that Italian Nation, but most of all, he was curious as to why Italy was jumping through the marked with such a happy, satisfied expression.

Not that Italy was ever unhappy, except sometimes (whenever someone mentioned the time he was at Austria's house, actually. America wasn't sure why. Maybe the Austrian aristocrat was really a bad caretaker? Well, like England), and if America saw him unhappy he tried to make him laugh, but…

Yeah, anyway –Italy kept stroking his sleeves and curling more into his jacket, and America thought that he looked almost… cute.

Definitely cute.

Though, he was a bit confused… why was Italy wearing his jacket? It wasn't cold at all, and even America had dropped it at the meeting room to go out; not to mention, the sight was a bit strange.

Someone else wearing his jacket –something that belonged to him, and that nobody except his own brother, had ever tried on– and without even asking him if he could!

Scratching the back of his head, America continued following Italy around, watching him as he filled up a cart with junk food and drinks, still rubbing himself into the jacket every now and then.

He'd wanted to know if Italy was planning something with his jacket (Russia had tried to bury it once, and Australia had tried to paint it blue at least a couple of times), but it looked like he just wanted to wear it. Which was… strange?

He didn't understand.

Why so comfortable inside someone else's clothes? Especially clothes that were hanging a bit too loosely on his frame.

Why was he looking so cute, too?

America found that his cheeks and ears were turning red as Italy pressed his lips against the hem of the jacket, near his neck, breathing in.

This wasn't really something he'd ever thought he would see, and yet…

And yet, he didn't mind the sight.

Italy looked good inside his jacket. It complimented his hair well, even that bouncy curl of his. And his eyes. And he looked so satisfied and at ease, and… and it was big on him. Not big as a shirt from, like, Germany would, but still big enough to be noticed.

And the way he wore it made the brunette Nation look really _cute_.

America followed Italy outside of the shop, keeping himself hidden from sight, and only relaxed when Italy settled on a bench in a small park, rolling the sleeves back to cover his hands and opening a pack of candies –which were, coincidentally, America's favourite brand.

Humming softly under his breath, Italy then started to munch on them, fingers digging into the pack and bringing a candy up to his lips every now and then.

The American nation gulped down as he got closer and closer, watching Italy eat and snuggle inside his jacket.

It was his, but… the way it looked on Italy… like, everything that was inside that jacket belonged to America, too…

Shaking his head at the perplexing thought, America bit his lower lip and shuffled until he was right behind Italy, who had yet to notice.

Then, he cleared his throat.

"Feliciano?"

"V–ve?"

Italy was startled out of his happy time by a voice coming from behind him, and the packet of sweets he was enjoying fell from his hands and onto the ground, some candies rolling away; he spun around so fast that he almost lose balance, grabbing the bench with one hand.

"A–A–Alfred?"

Eyes wide, Italy did the only thing that he knew how to –he curled up on himself and started sobbing dramatically, arms waving around, sleeves flopping everywhere.

"I–I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be found out! Ve~ don't hurt me! I swear I didn't ruin your jacket Alfred! Don't hurt meeee!"

America watched the display with a vague trace of amusement, but the whining and crying made him feel guilty, so he moved forwards, grabbing the sleeves and holding them still. Instantaneously, Italy calmed down, still sobbing but at least doing it quietly.

"Feliciano, stop crying! It's not right if the hero makes someone cry like this! I'm sorry I frightened you!"

Italy sniffled and looked up at America, making him look to the side, feeling his cheeks turn red again. The sight was –cute. Again.

"Uh… why are you wearing my jacket?"

Italy froze, and flushed crimson, looking away. "Ve~"

"Feliciano?"

Italy squirmed a bit, but since America's grip wasn't wavering, he relented and muttered it out. "I just… like it…"

A blink. "You like my jacket?"

"_Sì_!" Italy looked back at him, still flushed in embarrassment, and tried to explain. "It's comfortable and warm and it's so big and soft, and I tried it on for fun one day and I liked it and I couldn't stop stealing it but was afraid you'd get angry or laugh at me and I really really like how it feels so sometimes I just can't stop myself and–"

"Whoa whoa whoa, calm down!" America released the sleeves of his jacket and retreated a bit, shaking his head. "I get it, you like my jacket!" he thought about it for a second. "Of course you would like it, it's my awesome jacket after all! The jacket of a hero is part of the hero! In a way, it's like you're wearing me, hahaha!"

"… ve?" Italy blinked, not really following America's reasoning. "You're not… angry at me?"

America scratched his chin. In truth, he was a bit put off by the fact that another nation liked his jacket so much, but he wasn't really angry. Besides, Italy looked so cute that he wanted him to wear it again, actually.

In front of him, of course.

"Uh… no, I guess no. It wouldn't do for a hero to get angry if a fan wants to imitate him, after all!" he cheered, patting Italy on the head. "But ask me next time! If you like it this much, it would be mean of me not to offer it to you!"

Italy's eyes widened so much that America felt like they were swallowing him. "Ve~! So can I keep it on during the meeting?"

America looked at him, then imagined the other Nation sitting at the meeting table, rolled up sleeves, curled into his jacket, and felt a surge of warmth rush through his body. "Sure!" he found himself replying, a huge smile on his lips.

"_Davvero_? Oh, _Grazie_ Alfred!"

He leaped forwards, and if America wasn't the awesome person he was (actually, if he hadn't the strength he had), the body slamming against his chest would have made him fall on his back.

As it was, he just 'oof'ed and smiled sheepishly, looking down at Italy… and was suddenly on the receiving end of two kisses, one on each cheek.

Italy's lips were soft and cool on his skin, making it tingle long after the fleeting contact had moved away.

America was still smiling goofily when Italy bounced down from the bench, picking up the discarded pack of candies, and offered them to him with a bright, adorable smile.

He didn't even notice grabbing a few and munching on them, as he was too busy staring at Italy dancing around him, still with his jacket on.

As he and Italy started walking back towards the UN building, America idly wondered if Italy tasted like the candies did –strawberry and really, really sweet.

…–…–…–…

**Omake**

"_Buongiorno_ Alfred~"

America blinked. Then, he blinked again. His eyes moved to the watch on his wrist. It read 7:05 AM; stifling a yawn, America turned to look at Italy standing on his doormat, smiling and beaming.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, then America smiled brightly and swallowed all the questions he wanted to ask.

None of them felt important. Not when Italy was standing there, brimming with energy, almost bouncing on his feet.

"Good morning, Feliciano!" he replied. "Want to come in for a coffee?"

"Ugh!" Italy wrinkled his nose and shook his head, clearly disgusted. "American coffee? Ve~ no thank you~ want to come out for a good, Italian coffee instead?"

Tapping his chin with a finger, America made a point to look like he was considering the request. "Do I get a croissant too?"

"Sure~!"

"Ok then, Alfred the hero will escort you!"

Italy giggled happily, then his cheeks turned slightly red. "Can I–"

With an amused chuckle, America leaned to the side, grabbing his jacket and dropping it on top of Italy's head. "Just wait for me to put on some clothes, ok?"

He let Italy in and closed the door behind them, leading the Italian Nation towards his bedroom, where he tackled a small pile of clothes, sniffing some before throwing them to the side.

It was quite a curious arrangement between the two of them –ever since the last world meeting, America had allowed Italy to ask for his jacket more than once; in fact, in two months he had requested it over and over, content in wearing it to go just about _everywhere_.

Not that America minded. He still thought Italy was definitely cute (cuter, probably) wearing his clothes, and it made him even a bit possessive towards the Italian Nation, to the point of making sure nobody dared to comment about the strange sight.

If Italy was cute with America's jacket, then he was cute, because the hero said so.

Whilst the American blond tried to determine whether one of his shirts was still clean enough to be used, deep in his thoughts, Italy snuggled into the infamous jacket with a satisfied smile.

America was really nice, he didn't scold him if he popped around at any hour to ask for his jacket, he didn't even reject Italy's invites to come over to play (all the games Japan sent them, of course).

He was definitely a good person, and a fun one to spend some time with.

And Italy could wear his jacket whenever he wanted. That made him really happy.

Peering up from the folds of the jacket, Italy flushed crimson when he realised that the other Nation was getting undressed right in front of him; hurriedly looking to the side, Italy nonetheless continued to take peeks at the other Nation as he changed.

America really had a nice, built body; not like Germany had, yet a handsome one nonetheless, with an enticing back, and…

Shaking his head, Italy hid his blush into the jacket's collar, shaking his head in embarrassment. He was once again allowing his thoughts to run free, and they were making him fidgety.

Maybe America was cool and strong, and always nice to him, but that didn't mean he should be thinking like that.

Though he _did_ have a nice body. And he _was_ nice.

And he could still breathe in his scent from the jacket, and that was now another reason why he liked it so much.

"I'm ready for that coffee, Feliciano!" Italy blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by a tap on his head and a smile from the other Nation.

"That's great, ve~" Italy's attention focused on how close America was, and fidgeted.

America cleared his throat. "If afterwards you want to, there's a new thematic park open nearby, we could spend the day there and eat at McDona–"

Following a sudden impulse, Italy stood on his tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on America's lips, effectively silencing him.

The touch didn't last long –probably it was even faster than the kisses he dispensed on the American Nation's cheeks– but it made Italy feel even giddier. It didn't feel bad at all.

He'd wanted to do that for a while now, and he felt definitely better now that he'd managed it out.

Surprised at his own gesture, he retreated a bit, watching America and waiting for his reaction, still with a smile on his lips.

Much to his surprise, all that America managed to comment before sweeping Italy in another kiss was simply a "hey, you don't taste like strawberries!"

"Ve~?"

Then it didn't quite matter anymore.

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**SOY:** I thought it would be good to end it where it ends, but then I felt bad because nothing happened, so I added the omake. Sorry XD

_Davvero? (Italian)_ – Really?

_Grazie (Italian)_ - Thank you

_Sì (Italian)_ - Yes.


End file.
